


Have You Any Dreams You'd Like To Sell?

by HoboLobo



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Eventual Relationships, F/M, Grief, Mentions of past abuse, Multi, Other, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Swearing, Therapy, lots of swearing, mild violence, warning for Roland
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 04:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9367073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoboLobo/pseuds/HoboLobo
Summary: Human!AUBog and Marianne meet and get through group therapy together and try very hard at not falling for each other along the way





	1. And I've got such a long way to go (Prologue)

"Are you _fucking **kidding me?!**_ "

Bog's head snaps up at the sound of shouting. He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, turning his head this way and that until he hears a satisfying crack. Feels like he nearly gave himself whiplash. He was finally getting his breathing down to a comfortably steady pace and wrestling his frayed nerves into a semblance of calm until that voice on the other side of the wall broke through. There's even more shouting coming through now, more voices muddled together and muffled behind the barriers of wood, drywall, and apparently not-so soundproof material. His normal seat by the door suddenly feels exactly like the wrong place to be right now.

A charged second of silence passes before _bam_ the door collides against the wall and a flushed-faced murderous-looking woman with short dark hair bursts through from the therapist's office. She doesn't spare anyone the slightest bit of attention as she storms across the waiting room and slams shoulder first out through the large plexiglass double doors.

Another moment or so passes when a well put together young man comes through the same door the woman had, pausing at the threshold to tease a strand of blond hair into place and school his face into a pleasant but put-upon smile before pursuing her again.

"Hold on, buttercup, now let's be reasonable!" The smooth baritone carries and his charming Southern drawl is insufferably grating to Bog's ears as he passes by.

The woman stops short halfway to the parking lot, shaking with restraint and fighting the urge to keep moving after having been nothing but a flurry of movement just a few seconds ago. The blond man approaches her cautiously, murmuring softly as if he were sweet-talking a feral mongrel instead of his- _girlfriend? fiancé? wife?_ They'd presumably just come out of couple's counseling if Bog's head was on straight.

The possibly boyfriend/fiancé/husband impossibly manages to get close enough to put his hands on the woman's shoulders, the ideal image of a supportive and loving partner to any outside glance. The image is quickly shattered as she whips around and soundly _clocks_ the pretty boy square in the center of his too perfect face. He lands flat on his ass, nearly tripping into the bushes nearby, and a trickle of blood appears just under the visible side of the man's nose.

Her voice rises up again- it's shakey and fluttering with too many emotions fighting to come out, but the words hold with conviction. "You... don't _ever_ touch me again, you disgusting fucking _pig_!"

Her face is blotchy, wet with tears and ruined make-up, contorted with pain and fury, and even from a distance the sight of it hits at something in Bog's chest, forcing the air from his lungs.

She keeps her eyes trained on the man currently still on the ground nursing a busted nose. He wasn't exactly taking it like a champ either, too focused on his own (probably) over-exaggerated pain and babbling about how hard it would be to get the blood out of his shirt to notice her making a b-line for her car on the other end of the parking lot.

"Are you crazy, you fu- I mean- C'mon, Marianne, you can't just leave me like this. At least help me get to the car!"

Marianne didn't pause for even a second as she climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut behind her with so much force it caused the car to sway in place for a good few seconds. When the swaying subsided the engine roared to life and the car was viciously pulled from its space as it was redirected towards the front of the main building where it again halted to a stop.

He had stumbled back on to his feet, clutching his nose, but not making any moves to get closer. "Alright now, you've made your point, honey. If you're all done having you're little hissy-fit maybe now we can go home and call it day?"

The driver side window rolled down, revealing Marianne's face, still red and puffy-eyed, but wiped free of tears, eerily lucid and, if possible, filled with even more rage.

"How about _you_ call a fucking cab, Roland? And while you're at it, _you_ can do the honors and call _both_ of our families and tell them that the wedding is _fucking off_."

With that, Marianne sped off back onto the main road, leaving a bruised, bleeding, and thoroughly harried looking Roland on the curb outside.

Bog fell back into his chair, just now realizing he'd literally been on the edge of his seat ever since the 'couple' went outside. A quiet voice somewhere nearby and outside his periphery muttered, "I guess _they_ won't be back for marriage counseling."

Bog closed his eyes and sighed. He could feel a headache coming as he thought to himself, _Christ, I hope not_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a while since I've tried to write anything and I'm better with oneshots (I try to write short, sweet and to the point) but I'd like to work on making this an ongoing multichapter fic (never done one of those so bear with me)
> 
> also huge shout-out to every artist/writer/creator in the Strange Magic fandom, you all inspire me so much and you are the reason why I'm writing again


	2. Fill my heart (with emptiness)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more characters and way less actual therapy than you'd expect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worked on this all day because the prologue felt so short and I wanted to make up for that (even though this one isnt that much longer BUT STILL)  
> Also want to thank everybody who left kudos/comments/took the time to read any of this you guys are amazing and my poor little heart cant handle it ;;

 

 

Bog has been coming to these group meetings long enough that _you'd think_ he'd have absorbed everything he could get out of them by now. 

 

The routine itself is gratifying in its own way- every week he comes in around 4:15, checks in with the clerk at the front desk, takes his lone seat by the door, pops in his headphones and tunes out the rest of the world for a tranquil 45 minutes before 5 o'clock comes around. A couple minutes past the hour and the door will open, the group counselor will beckon everyone in to start their session, and Bog will brace himself once again for a lengthy hour of human interaction.

 

They were supposed to fill out and bring back a questionnaire this week, which Bog had initially left under his seat and ignored when they were first handed out because they were filled with questions like, ' _What are some of your best strengths/qualities? List at least 10 in the space below_.' He could make up two on a good day (he can reach the higher shelves when he goes to the grocery and... and... well he never said today was especially _good_ now did he?)

 

At least he wasn't the only one to come up empty handed. Brutus, Stuff, and Thang were also missing their questionnaires, each of them with their own excuses-

 

"Forgot it."

 

"Left it at home."

 

"Oh, that was today?"

 

\- and whether they were legitimate or not, it meant Bog could get away with putting off the frivolous bullshit for a little longer. It made him appreciate the other regulars, just a bit. They didn't give him grief about being 'unwilling to share his feelings' and he didn't give them any shit in return, and that's about as close to an understanding as he could hope for. If anyone asked, he might even consider them as friends.

 

Brutus is amiable enough to Bog, he stands just an inch below Bog's own towering height, and much like him doesn't care to open his mouth more than he strictly has to, but where Bog is lean, pale, willowy, and more than likely underweight, Brutus is built like a brick shithouse, thick with muscle, dark skin made darker by years spent working long days in the sun, and he'd be as fearsome as Bog if it weren't for the dopey lopsided grin that peaks out now and then and the deep melodic cadence to his voice.

 

And then there's Stuff and Thang, as they've come to be known.

 

Stephanie Hufton, Stuff, is round, just bow-legged enough to be noticeable, and quick to make note of other people's bullshit (He knows this from personal experience). She's been in the process of transitioning for the past several years and despite everything has formed a stoic confidence in herself that continually impresses Bog and even makes him slightly envious if he thinks about it too long (He doesn't). She very rarely brings up her life before she'd started to transition in their meetings and she doesn't have to, in Bog's opinion, she doesn't owe anyone shit. She instead mostly uses her time during meetings to complain about how difficult it is to do anything with her naturally frizzy hair. Every time he sees her the color in her mohawk is a new shade of green, blue, or purple, sometimes all three at once when she's feeling ambitious.

 

Her partner, Thaniel Cheng, aka Thang, on the other hand, is something else. He's a scrawny little bugger and as fast as he is clumsy, but even more so he's forgetful to a point that even Bog worries how he gets around without Stuff there to set him straight. The guy is deaf in one ear, due to an illness from childhood, and needs everything repeated a few times before he finally understands what you're saying, but usually by that time he's already lost the thread of the conversation and is more than happy to move on and talk about whatever is on his mind at the moment. What actually irritates Bog about him isn't any of that- it's how _happy_ he seems. He's one of the goofiest human beings Bog has ever met in his life, second only to his mother, and most days the guy looks so content just to be alive (he's probably only there to support Stuff) and Bog almost hates him for it. Almost.

 

Their counselor today is a sub filling in for Ms. Plum (thank fuck for that, she always zeros in on him about missing papers) and has for the last few minutes been trying to go around the room getting people to introduce themselves. Before she can make it to Bog, a knock on the door interrupts her and she gets up to open it. Standing in the hallway are two women, the second obscured by the first. The woman closest to the door can only be described, in Bog's mind, as a blinding ray of sunshine taken human form and her voice cuts through just as clear.

 

"Hello, I'm so sorry for interrupting, is it too late for us to join in?"

 

"Not at all, ladies. We're just getting through introductions. Go ahead and take a seat."

 

Sunshine Incarnate is moving to do just that, followed closely by- 

  
_Holy shit_.

 

_What's **she** doing back here?_

 

 

*************************************************************

 

 

"I know you're trying to be supportive, Dawn, but you _really_ don't have to come in with me."

 

As they were making their way to the meeting room, Marianne kept her voice just above a whisper so Dawn could hear her without disturbing the quietness of the hallway.

 

"I know I don't _really_ have to, but I also know that if I didn't come with you that you wouldn't have come here at all and you'd still be in your apartment pretending not to be miserable. All I'm asking is for you to give it a chance, Marianne. You won't talk to Dad, which I totally understand, he's the one who suggested couple's counseling, but you won't even talk to _me_ -"

 

"I talk to you all the time! About everything!"

 

Dawn stops and turns around to face Marianne directly, giving her a skeptical look. "Not about Roland."

 

At this Marianne averts her gaze, still on Dawn's face, but looking anywhere besides her sister's keen eyes and her voice goes steely. "We don't need to talk about him."

 

Dawn's voice breaks as she struggles not to cry in frustration, " _Yes we do!_ What he did to you was awful and he's an absolute scumbag and I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner-"

 

Marianne finally looks her in the eye, concern overcoming bitterness. "Dawn, it is _not_ your fault-"

 

"It's not _your_ fault either." Dawn takes a hold of her hand, giving it a firm squeeze and just stays there for a moment. Marianne hates herself a little more for making Dawn worry like this. She makes a silent promise to both of them that she will get through this, if not for her own peace of mind then for Dawn's, before they both continue down the hall, stopping right in front of the last door. 

 

Dawn's voice comes back, all desperation gone and in its place a new determination. "It's not your fault, Marianne, and if it takes me and a room full of complete strangers to make you see that, then it's worth trying." She turns her back to her, knocking on the wooden door and as it opens she can hear in Dawn's voice that her old, annoyingly chipper self is back.

 

As she walks in behind Dawn she looks at the room itself, the walls a calm cool shade of green, how the chairs have been set in a circle and how the people in them are looking _at her_. The initial panic from when she first arrived here returns, when she'd reluctantly pulled into the familiar parking lot, walked through the same space where just months ago her four year long relationship came to an abrupt and violent end- _nope_ , she is _not_ going there. She mentally shakes herself ( _snap out of it, Marianne_ ) and immediately looks for any available seats so she can stop feeling like she's on display. She spots two and sitting between them, clad head to toe in dark washed out grey, is the tallest, palest,  _creepiest_ -looking motherfucker she's ever seen.

 

And he's staring right at her.

  
_Oh no_.

 

_Fuck **that** noise._

 

She's ready to turn around and say as much when Dawn cheerily flits over to Creeper McFuckface, diverting his attention away from Marianne, and introduces herself.

 

"Hi, I'm Dawn! Do you mind if my sister and I sit next to you?"

 

_God damn it, Dawn._

 

The guy looks only slightly taken aback, looking at Dawn and wearing an expression like it's almost physically painful looking at her, let alone speaking to her.

 

"Um... sure?"

 

At the affirmative, if reluctant, sound of the man's gravelly accent, Dawn immediately takes the seat at his right, leaving Marianne to sullenly make her way to the chair on his left.

 

As she plops down, the group counselor's sincere voice pipes up, "Thank you for joining us, ladies, we're happy to have you. We'll go ahead and pick up where we left off in our introductions. Would you like to introduce yourself, sir?"

 

At that, the man between Marianne and Dawn sits up straight (and, Jesus, he's _huge,_ even when he's sitting down), rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, groaning as he does so.

 

"My name's Alan Kingsley, but everyone calls me Bog. Just stick to that." His eyes glare around the room as he speaks, not really focusing on any one person. When he's finished, he leans back into his small chair (small for him) and stares at the empty space of floor within the circle of people.

 

Marianne was looking out of the corner of her eye at Bog, leaning slightly away from him as he spoke, and the sliver of fear she felt a second ago is giving way to irritation.

 

_'Well, isn't **he** just the friendliest guy around. What kind of name is Bog, anyway? And where does he get off talking like that to people?'_

 

Dawn decides to go right after him, oblivious to Bog's attitude, introducing herself and Marianne in the same go. Everyone welcomes them, clapping softly or muttering 'hello' here and there, all except for Bog, who remains still and silent and, strangely enough, for all that he's avoiding everyone in the room, especially seems like he's avoiding Marianne. He stays that way the entirety of the group session, occasionally acknowledging one or two people with low grunts, growling out a _"Pass"_ when he's asked if he has anything to share with the group. Marianne passes as well, but she _tries_ to at least be cordial about it and actively tries to listen when other people are talking. She wants to try her best for Dawn, 'try' being the operative word, but she is not about to spill her guts or even attempt to broach the subject of why she's here, not while her baby sister is here, not sitting next to this _jerk_ , and especially not on the first day- she just needs time. If she's serious about making this work, (unlike like the enormous antisocial gargoyle slouching next to her) then she needs to ease into it.

 

In the time that the meeting takes, Marianne starts to feel less like she needs to watch the clock, and is much less impressed by the imposing figure of Bog ( _how is that even a name?_ ). As it comes to a close, Bog immediately stands up, sighing under his breath as Dawn waves at him- "Bye, Boggy!"- nodding at a small group sitting together as he walks by, and still pointedly avoids looking at her as he leaves. Staring at his retreating form, a familiar feeling, one that she now associates with thoughts of her ex, starts to well up just beneath the surface of her skin. Despite him avoiding her and her own waning wariness of him, she couldn't help but catch a few good glances of his profile while they'd sat next to each other- his brown hair peppered with strands of gray, bushy unkempt brows, eyes sunken and shadowed, a ridiculously pointed nose, an almost sickly-looking angular face edged with stubble and a few ugly scars visible on the chin. For all that Marianne barely knows him, she can only manage to put a single word to the creeping feeling inside her.

 

_Loathing._

 

She has nothing but absolute loathing for Bog.


End file.
